


four spheres in a perfectly balanced orbit

by cjones7



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (that's blink and you'll miss it), Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Betty, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Polyamory, dark future, not actually angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjones7/pseuds/cjones7
Summary: In between two picture perfect houses, side by side on the North Side of town, there is a secret gate in the fence between the two, shadowed by hedges on both sides with a well trod path between them. The gate is never locked.
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge/Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Jughead Jones, Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 10
Kudos: 70





	four spheres in a perfectly balanced orbit

**Author's Note:**

> So I tried to write fluff and then Betty turned into a mob assassin and well here we are. See bottom notes for who the minor character death is.

Two houses on the nice side of town, the North Side, the classy side, two houses stand side by side. Two picture perfect houses, two picture perfect couples, old Riverdale families, respectable.

(In between two picture perfect houses, side by side on the North Side of town, there is a secret gate in the fence between the two, shadowed by hedges on both sides with a well trod path between them. The gate is never locked.) 

734 Maple Avenue. Riverdale’s first and favorite couple. Veronica Lodge, youngest mayor of Riverdale (and the only good Lodge mayor, people joke, and the smile does not reach their eyes.) and Archie Andrews-Lodge, self proclaimed and proud house husband. 

(When her father’s empire sat in ashes at her feet, ready for her to remake in her own image, Veronica asked Archie what role he wanted in the family, ready to give him anything, ready to pluck down the moon if he asked, and Archie, sweet, steady Archie, asked to stay home, to keep the home fires bright and burning for her, for all of them, and how could she ever deny him that? How could she ever deny any of them?)

736 Maple Avenue. The Cooper-Joneses. Democratic above all. Perfect girl next door married to the Southside boy made good. Writers, the both of them, talented enough, skilled enough, and famous enough to get people to forget about their collective pasts. Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones, killer’s daughter and serpent prince no more.

(Not too long ago, the narrative around town was: “Betty killed her brother and got a taste for blood” and “heard she only got off since her stepdad’s the sheriff” and “who knows what her that man, what the Black Hood, what her father taught her.” Nobody was wrong. Not too long ago, the narrative was “Something’s off with the Jones boy”, and “heard he tried to skin a woman” and “who knows what a boy like that is capable of.” None of them were wrong either. Amazing what you can do, with a flexible writing schedule, and a woman who knows you, and understands you, and gives you an outlet.)

The Lodge-Andrews wedding was a grand affair, live band at the reception, live flowers at the altar, a dress that you could pay rent with. Jughead best man, of course. Betty Cooper (and it was Cooper, then), walking the bride down the aisle. They postponed their honeymoon a week, to attend their best friends wedding.

The Cooper-Jones wedding was sweet, and modest. No one expected less, no one expected more. Just as it should be. 

(What? What is it you want? The truth? The real image beyond the pretty silk screened perfection? Even Alice (Alice Cooper, Alice Smith, Alice Jones, what next?) is content without all that, is content with the glossy magazine life. But if we must, if we must.)

There are not two couples in two perfect houses, side by side. There are four people, in love, staying together in one house or another, depending on mood. There are no perfect, shining heroes here. There are four people, bonded by blood and pain and fire, forged in crises into creatures who can never live apart, and happier for it. 

There is no good Lodge mayor, there is only one with good PR, one who is smart enough to not get caught, one who has a support system to fall back on, who can catch her if she grandstands too far. One who inspires more fear than any other name on the whole of the Eastern Seaboard, more than her father ever did. She has her husband yes, but she has her right hand, and her warrior (her enforcer? Her killer? But she likes warrior. Knight, even. God knows the girl’s always made her feel like a queen.) who’s arms she can always fall back on.

And Archie, well, Archie’s Archie, always. Archie is not, cannot, be in the business. But he rubs his wife’s shoulders when she comes home from a long meeting and a petty criminal comes up missing the next day. He washes blood out of his lover’s long blonde hair. He soothes the scratches on his first love’s knuckles (punched a mirror to prove a point, he tells him sheepishly, an almost boyish blush on his cheeks) before kissing him roughly. Archie is not in the business, but he is its lynchpin.

Betty Cooper is dead, long live Betty Cooper. The perfect girl next door is long, long gone. She remembers, once, that pretty sunny self was meant to kill her, to purge all darkness out of herself, her mind, her soul. Sweet perfection could not win that fight, and nor did it want to. Much easier to give in, to succumb, to be seduced by the darkness. Had Betty sliced herself open and bled the darkness out of her, she could have never laid languid in Veronica’s bed, could never have fucked Archie on his honeymoon, could never allow Jughead, allow herself, the full sweetness of the four of them. It comes with drawbacks, the dreams, the urges, the dark and dirty impulses, but there was a quick fix for that, too. Veronica gave her a job, a gun, a set of knives. And oh does she love to watch her work.

Serpents don’t die, they shed their skins. Jughead thinks his father said that, once. And while it made him roll his eyes, at the time, when his best friend’s wife (and he laughs, at that, as if anyone has more of a claim than any other) is dressing him in suits he never could have dreamed of wearing as a kid to set off to some underground meeting, protection, intimidation, and a quick mind. (They had Betty play this role, at first, but there was a fight, and then witnesses, and then a mess. Betty’s love is protection, but it is also blinding. Jughead can bring himself to be a bit more careful.) A gang is a gang is a gang, but he prefers the shadows to the throne, now. You can do so much more there.

So there are two perfect houses on the nice side of town, side by side. Riverdale’s four favorite people, two favorite couples live there. Picture perfect couples. And: there are two perfect houses on the nice side of town, and three of the most dangerous people on the whole of the East Coast and the man who loves them live there. Together, and only together, there are no masks, no expectations, no roles to play. Only their barest, truest selves, and those who love them.

**Author's Note:**

> I killed off Charles again!! I feel like no one is surprised.


End file.
